Persistence
by gaffer42
Summary: Cross with SG1, alternate universe. Sheppard McKay friendship, unabashed angst. It's amazing what you can do when a life is in the balance. Rating changed after consulting with someone who's read it. Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Cave

_Drama/Angst/HC_

_SGA/SG1 crossover_

_Rated M for Mature_

_Author's Notes - Spoiler for SG1 "Threads", small one forSGA "Defiant One"_

_I'm severely P.O.d at TPTB for killing Jacob and Selmac, so consider this AU. I haven't seen that episode in Canada, so I'm pretending it didn't happen…so there…pfffttt. And I've avoided SG1 spoilers, to some extent. Like I said – AU._

_This is unabashed smarm and angst, written as an exercise in description, started several months ago. I used it as a test-bed for new ways of describing things; so don't be surprised if it's a tad wordy. I'm borrowing Supergeek - it's so descriptive! Credit to Koschka._

_Don't own them, not making money off them, but feedback is very welcome. As always, blame the grammar blips on me being Canadian or being intentional, not on my wonderful beta reader Talberts._

**Persistence**

_Chapter 1_

He'd read about it.

All his battlefield aid training programs mentioned that a belly wound was one of the ones most to be feared.

There had been the stories told in the officers mess by the veterans; some old as his father would be were he alive, some younger; all hardened soldiers who'd seen combat while he'd still been in college. The stories of limbs blown off by mines from forgotten wars, shrapnel injuries, bullet wounds that ripped open arteries, muscles, lives. The level of testosterone at these gatherings was always high. Macho men talking of heroic deeds their friends, or they, performed under unimaginable conditions.

Then, inevitably, someone would mention the wound that - it seemed - no one walked away from. And someone would drag out that hoary old urban myth, of the man who killed his gut-shot friend rather than condemning him to the slow, agonizing death it inevitably caused.

It was a story, he'd been assured too firmly, just a rumour of a tale of something that may or may not have happened. But it had caught his emotions, it had stuck in his mind, and sometimes - in the dark, among the myriad other thoughts and worries that haunted his nights - he had wondered about it. Tried to imagine the possible circumstance, tried to think if he'd have the mental or emotional strength to release a friend from torment. Tried to imagine caring for anyone that much.

He didn't make close friends, not back then, so long ago; and thus it remained an intellectual exercise. Times were easier, he was so much younger, and he'd not yet learned what it was to trust completely in someone, to feel pride that the trust was returned. It was before he'd learned - through bitter experience - what it was to lose someone that level of trust had been built with. How much worse to lose two. How much he didn't want to lose anyone else.

The roof of the cave was low. He'd banged his head on it, dragging McKay in, but the cave opening had appeared just as his strength had given out, and it was a gift he wasn't going to question. The floor was uneven, almost corrugated, but he'd found a fairly flat spot and dropped down, wounded hip high, pulling McKay to him. The rain had been steady, cold, and they were both soaked through. Moving had been bad, but stopping was worse, in a way. Moving had required concentration. Stopping left nothing to think about but their injuries.

Exhausted from their flight, he'd blacked out for a few moments, waking with McKay writhing in his arms. The pain of the stomach wound had begun in earnest. He'd held the man close, one arm pillowing McKay's head, his friend grasping his free hand with both of his icy ones, and they'd ridden the waves of suffering together. Sheppard had talked, almost constantly - about Atlantis, flying, stories of adventures he'd had, flying, growing up in California, flying. He'd described in loving detail his first flight in a crop duster. The feeling of control, the way he seemed to have an innate ability, recognized and nurtured by his granddad. Control was the key, it defined his life in the air, he told McKay. It was why he flew.

He kept to himself, though, a new definition he'd discovered. The simplest definition of being without control was a friend's pain.

He couldn't track the hours. His watch had cracked, and McKay's' was gone. His new measure of time was, at first, the spaces the between the spikes of pain; the moments McKay would be able to respond to him. Then it became the time before - when McKay could still grip his hand - and after - when pain and accumulating blood loss had weakened him too far.

He shifted slightly, easing the burning of the wound in his hip, hearing the ragged breathing catch as the movement triggered another spasm in the wounded body he cradled. He reached across carefully, touching the clammy face, running gentle fingers over the temple and down the cheek, whispering a quiet apology.

He felt a tiny nod, and it triggered a surge of relief, tempered with guilt. Each time McKay escaped into the peace of unconsciousness, Sheppard wondered if he'd wake - every time he woke to the torment, Sheppard had more than once found his mind turning to that urban myth, now no longer an intellectual exercise.

His natural conviction, though now sorely tested, was that it would work out all right in the end. That there was more they had to do, the two of them, more arguments to have, more puzzles to solve. That was part of what kept him from accepting the solution the myth offered.

The other part of the reason was simple. He had discovered he wasn't that strong. The reality was worse than anything he'd imagined, and it was Rodney, not some faceless comrade-in-arms, not a ghost image in his nightmare. As much as his emotions were wrought by the knowledge of what the man was enduring, he couldn't take that step. Not yet.

Was it hope that stopped him? Was it weakness, after all? He let his hand rest lightly on McKay's opposite shoulder, at the base of his neck, and he rubbed it gently, easing the tension in the muscles. The rain pounded the ground outside, lightning flashed sporadically, and the flash of light at the cave's mouth dazzled him each time, to the point he tried to avoid looking that way. But most of the cave was in darkness, and he could feel the deterioration of the man's condition.

Without true light, his sense of touch became his eyes - not just his fingers, but the whole of his body. Against his chest he felt the shudders as McKay gasped against the burning contraction of torn muscles; his hips were jostled when the man sought ease fruitlessly by pulling up first one leg, then the other. And then the unnatural stillness when the combination of shock and pain and blood loss rendered him senseless, ribcage shifting only slightly against his as the physicist breathed shallowly, guardedly, even insensible; the cooling weight of unmoving limbs resting against him. It all told him the same tale.

More often, though, unconsciousness had granted surcease of the ceaseless pain. The irritating genius who had become his dearest friend had borne the agony knowing they were hunted, managing to swallow what had to have been screams to moans, keeping moans to a quiet keening that tore at him, causing more pain than even the wound in his hip. The storm outside raged, heedless of the quiet storm within.

"The rain must have cleared away our scent," he whispered. "Haven't heard the hunter dogs," he used the term for lack of any other "for ages."

"...so much..."a shallow breath "...for diplomacy..."

"We're nice people. Why don't people like us?"

He felt McKay sip air, ready to respond, and curled his arms more tightly around the shivering form. "It was a rhetorical question," he advised gently. "Shut up. Save your strength."

The words were firm, though his voice cracked slightly, and McKay turned his face towards him, letting that be the response and touch together. Gently, Sheppard pulled him closer.

"People'll talk." he heard, and shrugged slightly.

"They do already," he said against the damp hair.

McKay snorted disbelief.

"Seriously," he stated. "Rumour is we've been lovers for months."

He felt the grin against his neck.

"...not...my type..."

Sheppard chuckled a bit. "My loss, huh?"

"...too skinny..."

"Slender. No, wiry. I like that - wiry."

Another half-smile tickled against his collarbone. Then slowly, slowly the tense muscles relaxed, and McKay's head felt heavy on his shoulder. It was more than panic that had him holding his breath a moment, a year, until he could confirm the shallow, staggered respirations continued. He let his eyes slide closed in relief.

It had been darkening twilight when they'd found the cave. It was pitch inside now, the lightning had ended and there was the steady beat of rain outside. Closing his eyes merely meant another set of muscles relaxed, the transition simply from black to black. He let his head drop down, resting his cheek against the top of McKay's head, and drowsed.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

He shifted again, his hip throbbing - it woke him and he opened his eyes, there was faint moonlight coming through the mouth of the cave, an easement to his eyes after the sharpness of the lightning and the solid blackness that followed. The rain had passed, and the night breeze brought a clean scent into their dark world.

His wound was through and through, and he felt a slight grating every time he moved that warned him it was likely that the bone was involved. He could feel the thick tackiness of the dried blood on his clothes, stretched across his groin and buttocks - he'd simply shoved the sleeves torn from his shirt in under his pants, over the wound, letting the uncertain pressure of the fabric serve as a temporary bandage. Under that, though, he felt the warm, slow slide of continued bleeding. He had no more cloth, and did he have it, he would not have used it on himself.

There was only the torso left of the shirt he had ripped off to serve as wadding, once the extent of their wounds had been apparent, and that had been pressed into use to staunch the stomach wound...it was now sodden, not enough. He'd pulled the vest tightly closed over the shredded tissue and pitifully small pad, cursing the fact they'd been so ill equipped - but the Bancek were trustworthy trade partners, they'd been traveling here often, and the sudden attack by the unknown assailants was utterly unexpected. Ford and Teyla had gone one way; they'd made tracks the other, with little more than the clothes on their back. They'd evaded the attackers, but then there had been some very bad luck.

There had been no time for more comprehensive aid. The hunters were behind them, too close, and he couldn't let them get closer, wouldn't let them know how close their shots came to doing what they were meant to. The pursuers were shooting to kill.

Their blood was still flowing, and he knew, within himself, that they were both engaged in the serious business of dying.

He had held firm against despair for this long, through the hours, feeling the skewering pain of his own wound deepen to a throb that none-the-less paled, he knew, in comparison to what the physicist was enduring. He had held the quivering body, gentled the spasms as best he could. He had railed against death, against the loss he could not endure again, but still he had not permitted despondency entry.

Now, lying together, sharing the little warmth they had remaining, sharing space, sharing breath, their blood mingling together beneath them, he squinted his eyes shut and permitted himself one instant, one sob of grief, one moment of hopelessness. Loss of his own life he could accept, loss of someone who had filled a role in his life the way he had always imagined a brother would - the bickering, the wit, the amiable, affectionate silences - that was much harder.

He felt a slight shudder, and knew McKay was aware again.

"Rain's stopped," he whispered. "They must have made it back." It was a statement based simply on hope. "They'll be searching."

He felt McKay stiffen, knew another of the endless cramps was spreading tendrils of pain. He gasped faintly, a thin edge of a cry, and Sheppard whispered to him, nonsense, enticements, trying to give him something else to concentrate on, to cling to.

And, after an eternity, the pain eased again. Words had finally failed, Sheppard simply held McKay as awareness of a world beyond suffering came slowly back to his friend.

"...how're you?" The concern was evident in the almost inaudible question.

Sheppard closed his eyes against tears, born of exhaustion and pride. How the man had changed, a McKay lay in his arms that wouldn't exist had it not been for Atlantis. He weighed the answer, but honesty had been so much of their friendship - it couldn't be dismissed now.

"Not great," he admitted. "Doing my best. Hanging on."

"...y're cold..."

"We're both losing blood. It's shock." He had been trying not to shiver, not wanting to jar them both, but discussion of it made him more conscious of it, and he couldn't restrain a shudder. He waited for the cramps to submerge the physicist in the burning sea again, but seconds passed, and it seemed that they'd been granted a few moments of respite.

"...me, too." A shallow breath. "Hanging on...'s hard..."

He drew a breath to respond, but suddenly a spear of pain drove unexpectedly into his chest and he tried to gasp, lungs refusing to inflate; he felt McKay reach for him, spending the last vestiges of his energy in an enormous effort to grasp his hand, try to help...he clamped down on it in terror, lungs like frozen rocks around his heart, which laboured now...he felt the grasp returned, a twitch of the fingers. He fought to remain conscious, for himself, for McKay, but his ears were filling with sand...

It was almost like a brisk hike in the old country.

Well, apart from the fact the terrain was rockier, wetter, muddier and colder, and there were heavily armed Marines leading the pack, an alien huntress bringing up the rear, and the gnawing fear that no matter how fast they moved, it would be too slow for his friends.

He glanced down again at the monitor. The tracker worked more precisely in Atlantis, with all the sensors ranged around the city, and this had caused some consternation for the group when he first turned it on, standing in front of the ruins of their camp. There had only been one blip visible in the direction that Sheppard and McKay had last been seen going. Teyla had paled, and he could feel the colour leaving his face too. But there had been nothing for it; they'd started the climb, leaving the rest of the team to tend to the surviving Bancek below. The Genii were racking up the payment due. He spared a moment to hope that he'd be there to see it when that bill was finally called in.

The blip had resolved into two between one step and the next. He'd stopped dead, heart in his mouth, and Teyla had delegated the rearguard to Farrar, running up the path to stop by Carson, staring up at him, dark eyes hopeful. He'd simply turned the monitor to her, nodding beyond to Ford.

"We've got two!" the man behind him spoke into his radio.

"Confirming, Sergeant, we have two targets." The relief in Ford's eyes was visible. He nodded sharply, and they kept going.

They were so faint. He tried to concentrate on the path they were climbing, it was necessary, it was very rocky, but he couldn't keep from glancing down. Often. Just to make certain.

The pathway leveled out a bit, and he looked around, trying to imagine how Sheppard, wounded, had dragged McKay, also wounded, up this far. The sharpshooter hadn't been able to contain his pride, informing those from Atlantis that they might as well not bother; when he shot someone they were dead… Teyla, unsurprisingly, had attempted to gut the man, and it had been Ford that had managed to restrain her, even though the question of 'why bother' was clear in his face. He was a good soldier, though. The orders had been to attempt to keep the attackers alive. It was political, he presumed, something that Weir could use to negotiate a hands-off agreement between the peoples involved.

Ford simply wanted them neutralized. It was an un-physician-like thought, but Beckett did too.

They'd seen scat from the hunter animals lower down, he recalled, and given the size of the leavings he could estimate the size of the beast. Maybe it wasn't so hard to imagine after all, making the trek up the steep foot of the mountain; even injured, if you had three of those things baying at your heels.

Beckett shook his head, trying physically to clear the mental images. That had been his own weakness, observed by many of his professors. He had too much empathy. It had almost been a career-crippling issue, but he had taught himself to deal with it, with the constant realization that he could do everything right and still lose the patient. His imagination was constrained through practice, his natural amity curbed. And then the mission to Atlantis happened, he found himself in charge of maintaining the health of people he came to consider friends, and found himself closest to a couple of them who seemed to spend an alarming amount of time in his infirmary. He still managed to deal, but without the emotional distance from his patients, every situation became a personal battle to fight off the inclination that all medical cases had towards entropy. Loss was a ghost he was becoming very familiar with.

"Not these men. Please," he whispered.

He stopped again. The image showed them almost on top of the targets. He held up his hand, stopping those behind, and Farrar radioed a quick "hold it" to the scouts in front.

"They're nearby." He tapped his headset. "Look for signs. A cave, a rock cut. Won't be any real trail, not after the rain."

With two marines keeping watch, they began to search the hundred or so yards they'd been able to narrow the area down to. The wall was pockmarked with breaks, but they weren't deep enough, none of them, none were large enough. He searched with Teyla, methodically, patiently, and cultivated his restraint, though his anxiety was growing with every passing moment.

And then Farrar's voice, urgent, on the headset. "Got something."

He climbed the last twenty feet of screed just as Farrar was backing out of a low cave, and he looked stricken, ill. He held up a hand as Ford covered the last few feet towards them, coming from higher up the path, shaking his head.

"Let the Doc in. We can't help them," he said quietly.

It did nothing to quell his concern. Catching Farrar's eye, he ducked into the narrow opening.

"...a dhia..."

Bad habit, scolded a tiny part of his mind, but he'd been fed Gaelic with his mother's milk and it was still his language of emotion, passion, compassion. He crossed himself, instinctively, knowing just from standing hunched in the gap in the rocks, just from playing his flashlight briefly over his friends, that he would need more than earthly help.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Several battery powered lanterns provided light, and Teyla was his extra set of hands - in such close quarters, he needed strength in a smaller frame. He'd directed the others to move the jumper closer, and they'd headed down the path, double-time.

Sheppard's breathing was sterterous, but as long as he could hear it, no matter how hard he was working at it, it was good. McKay was most easily accessible, and in the cramped area he did a quick assessment then simply taped a new, larger pad of gauze over what had served, so far, as a bandage - what clotting that had occurred could not be disturbed, not here. As a doctor, he was used to the scent and sight of blood, as a hunter Teyla was the same, but he saw her gulping slightly, and knew how she felt. The smell was heavy in the tiny den. He could almost taste the coppery scent.

He shot the unconscious physicist with a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and nodded at Teyla to help him - they shifted McKay about half a meter over before something resisted. He leaned over, directed the flashlight downwards, and saw their hands were clasped, fingers interlaced to keep the contact even in unconsciousness. Teyla reached to break the grasp but Carson stopped her.

"I have enough room." He pulled out more pressure dressings, packing the front wound on Sheppard's hip, and the much larger exit wound behind, then wrapping it all tightly. Done, he stood - the fabric of his pants against his knees stuck slightly in the sticky blood that had gathered, and his shoes took a bit of effort to pull free - he stepped back over and went back to one knee by McKay.

"We found you," he told them quietly. "We're taking you home." Now, after readying the stretchers, he pulled their hands gently apart as he and Teyla wrapped them warmly. "I want them in the jumper yesterday," he told the others, and soon after, they were in the air.

oOo

Sam shucked her jacket and bag, dropping them on the lab bench. She had made it through her first cup of the sludge the Stargate teams fondly referred to as coffee, and was wading through her emails when Teal'c appeared.

"'Morning," she greeted, but his face was grave. "What?"

In response, he slipped a CD into the reader.

"An unscheduled communiqué from Atlantis," he said quietly. "It is not good news."

Frowning, she hit the keys to start the playback. It was Elizabeth Weir, staring into the camera. She looked drawn, exhausted.

"Colonel Carter," she said, flatly. "We need your help. Yours - and your father's."

Sam glanced at Teal'c, then back at the monitor.

"Rodney McKay is dying. He and Colonel Sheppard were on a mission that was attacked by the Genii. John's injuries, though severe, are treatable, and Dr. Beckett feels he will make a full recovery. Rodney..." her composure slipped "was shot in the stomach. The damage was...extensive...and infection has set in."

She stopped speaking for a moment, and Sam found that Teal'c was standing behind her, one hand on her shoulder. It was an unexpected comfort, and she found she needed it.

"John managed to find a place for them to hide. It was almost six hours before we found them. I don't even want to imagine what they went through..." she paused again, evidently having heard the quaver in her voice. She drew a deep breath.

"Colonel, I don't know if you'd recognize him now. He's come into his own here, he's a real leader." She was speaking more quickly, her fatigue permitting her emotions far more freedom than normal.

"He's part of the SGA1 team, and he's thriving...he fits in, and learned to shoot, he's gotten us out of more situations...but you know that, of course." The quaver was more pronounced, and she wasn't trying to conceal it anymore.

"He and John are like brothers, it's the most unlikely friendship, he was..." the screen went blank an instant, the recording evidently stopped and rewound to tape over what Sam realized had been a part too emotional to remain in the message. When she re-appeared, she was more or less under control again.

"We have put him in a stasis chamber, the same one the other Weir was preserved in. It's failing. His only hope is a Tok'ra with a healing device."

She leaned forward. "Please, Colonel. Professionally, we need him, his intellect. Personally, we need him - he is a dear friend and right now Atlantis is a car running on three cylinders without him."

She sat back. "We'll await your reply."

Sam blinked. She stood. "Teal'c..."

"I have already put the word out through our contacts. We may hear within a few hours, if we are lucky."

oOo

O'Neil leaned back as the image of Weir faded.

"Tell me you've started the chargers," he said. "That stasis chamber's got to be too damn old to count on."

Sam nodded. "I gave the order right after I saw this, sir."

"Anything from Jacob?"

"One contact has indicated he is returning from a mission." Teal'c stated. "We have hopes that we will be contacted very soon."

O'Neil sighed and tapped his desk absently. "How long till we can punch through to Pegasus?"

"Fourteen hours, twelve minutes."

He nodded. "Carter, you and Daniel get ready. Teal'c..."

"I wish to go as well."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"The man I have knowledge of bears little similarity to the person it appears that Dr. Weir is concerned about. I would like to meet this man."

oOo

Strange days, indeed. Most peculiar, momma.

Kavanaugh whistled the old tune through his teeth, flat on his back. He fed a wire through a slot and felt it tugged on, and then the rest of it vanished into the hole. "Done," he heard Zelenka say, and wormed out. There wasn't even any dust on the floor, which made him think maybe McKay was right about that too - Atlantis had a basic program; the city was, essentially, alive, and it triggered automatic electrostatic charges to keep dust from settling some places - dust had been found in storerooms, halls, but where high tech equipment resided it was always clean. Even now.

McKay was right. What a surprise. Everyone thought the sun shone out his butt anyway, the McKay fan club encompassed almost all the team members, and the legendary friendship between him and Sheppard had only increased what Kavanagh knew was a growing cult of personality. And now Farrar had been on about the rescue, what he'd seen, and it had - he bet - grown with the telling.

He finished a connection and slid the panel closed, a bit harder than he'd intended, admitting - if only to himself - he rather hoped it had been exaggerated. He had no liking for the 'dynamic duo' but the description of where they'd been found, and how, left him with a bleak mental image he had a hard time shaking. When he paused in front of the pod, staring in at McKay's still face; a face that was gaunt, pale, lined with suffering; he decided that maybe Farrar hadn't embellished. And no matter what he thought, no one deserved what had happened to them.

A hand on his arm made him jerk away. It was Radek Zelenka, a contradiction for him - one of McKay's' team, he was also one of the few people on Atlantis he could tolerate.

"He would be thanking you, if he could."

He shifted a half step. "Would he? I wonder."

"We can only buy time. If there is a way, SGC will send a Tok'ra. Once he is well, he will thank you."

Like he cared. "It was a chance to work with the technology, Doctor," he snapped. "Don't try to read more into it."

"Ah." Zelenka looked at him searchingly for a moment, then turned away.

He sat on his impulse to go after the Czech. He really didn't care, he reminded himself. McKay had a post that was rightfully his. Keeping that firmly in mind, he turned back to the panel, just as it started to beep.

"Oh, no."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Waking up in the infirmary was never fun. It was something he'd never expected to know as one of the great truths of life, but here he was, again, waking up in the infirmary.

He stared at the ceiling, knowing - from experience he never intended to have - that sooner or later all the balls would drop, his ducks would line up, and he'd remember exactly what happened to land him and McKay in here again.

McKay.

He tilted his head one way, then the other, and stared down between his feet. Memory returned. Then worry. Then deep alarm, verging on panic. He was the only one there.

"McKay?" His voice was hoarse from disuse.

He coughed, cleared his throat. "Carson? Anyone? Where's McKay?"

He kept looking around, and the line between alarm and panic had almost vanished by the time Beckett - scrubbing one hand over his face as if roused from a nap - headed down the row of beds towards him.

"Where is he?" His voice was rough, harsher than he'd intended. Carson moved to stand by the bed, and his hesitation wiped the line out completely. Something inside curled up hard and cold.

"You're not going to tell me he's dead," he said firmly, helplessly, knowing if that were the case denial wasn't going to help.

Carson drew a breath. "No. He isn't. Exactly."

Beckett had been rehearsing this for hours, what he'd say, how he'd say it. Now he was for it, and it all vanished like the mist.

"John, he was beyond our help. He was in pain, dying, and we'd done all our technology could do." Sheppard's face grew frighteningly blank, and he hastened to finish.

"We put him in stasis."

"Like Elizabeth?"

He nodded, but Sheppard's face grew colder.

"Couldn't help him, so you tossed him in the freezer..."

"No! John, I said he was beyond our technology. Not beyond the Gou'ald's."

The Major blinked, and the mask lifted slightly. "I thought they were the bad guys."

Carson stared at him a moment, then shook his head at his own denseness.

"I'm sorry. I forget sometimes you're new to all this." He busied himself removing the IV. "The System Lords are what the SGC have been fighting all these years. But there are other Gou'ald who call themselves the Tok'ra. They're allies, and they have all the abilities of the Gou'ald."

He wrapped the tubing up and took the bag down. "They can use all the Gou'ald technology - including a healing device that I've see work wonders. Elizabeth sent the request just after we took him down."

"Work wonders," Sheppard repeated flatly.

"John, it's not a guarantee. I would be lying if I said it was. But we're not giving up."

Sheppard nodded. "He isn't, either."

Beckett gave him a tight grin that didn't reach his eyes, and it served to remind Sheppard he wasn't the only one concerned.

"You'll recover, by the way," he commented, not surprised he hadn't been asked yet. He knew Sheppard's first concern would be his friend. "It'll be a while till you can safely move much, though. Had to use a clot buster drug, and you've had four units of blood since. There was a clot in your lung, but it's gone; I won't bore you with details, but you'll be here several days at least."

Then his comm chirped.

Sheppard tried to hitch himself up, butthere was a stiffnesswrapped around his hip, and it made it hard to move. Beckett went white, listening, and glanced at him before tearing out of the infirmary like the hounds of hell were after him.

"Beckett? Beckett! Damnit, what's going on!"

He dropped back, knowing it had to be McKay, and that it couldn't be good. Smashing his fist into bedding did nothing to relieve his frustration, and he shot a look over to the side table, almost hoping to see something breakable - he saw better. His comm.

By dint of a bit of squirming, he managed to grab it. Clipped it into his ear. And felt the colour drain from his face, too.

He lay in bed, eyes distant, as he listened. The stasis chamber was failing. There had been no response from SGC, the time calculated as possible for the earliest arrival had come and gone. Zelenka had been on the horn, demanding another generator - the one powering the living quarters had been detached and was being rushed down.

oOo

His incapacity was unendurable. He'd been lying there, listening, for almost an hour, while only a few floors away McKay's life was ending. He was dying. Not alone, at least, but he knew - he was certain if he were there it would make a difference, buy some time. They'd held on together through so much. He had to get down there. It was a physical need.

Beckett had removed the IV, and he'd discovered he could actually slide up on the mattress by dint of concentrated effort. It meant he wasn't actually restricted - except he couldn't sit properly, couldn't walk. If he could make it to a wheelchair he couldn't actually get down there.

He'd gone through the proper channels, tried to explain, tried to get the duty nurse to help, but to no avail. The best he'd gotten was that she'd find Teyla or Ford and send them down, so if the worst happened someone from the team would be there - as if they weren't there already, Sheppard thought bitterly. If they weren't, he could've called them, gotten their assistance - but he couldn't make it.

Not in time. Not alone.

Frustration vented in a wordless roar.

"Major?"

It was Halling. He remembered - once the Athosians in the city had heard of McKay's condition, they'd mounted a sort of prayer meeting.

"Halling? Listen, I need help."

"I shall call someone."

Sheppard met his gaze. "No. I need your help."

oOo

Ford showed up at the door, out of breath, generator on the cart.

"Over here," snapped Kavanagh, and Zelenka slipped behind the panel, tester in hand, worried. It was a theory, a nasty little thought that had crossed his mind, and one he hoped would be disproved…

"Boze," he swore softly. "Dr. Kavanaugh. It is not only the generator." He peered out. "It is the transformer."

"Well, you can replace it, can't you?" Ford asked.

"If we had another one, yes."

"It's finely calibrated, and designed for this pod only," Kavanagh disagreed, sounding for all the world like a lecturer. "When it fails, the field will fail. We can throw power at it from now till doomsday. It won't make any difference."

Ford stood stiffly, at attention. "How long."

"Got me." Kavanagh wandered over and stood, hands in pockets, surveying the man inside the chamber. "Didn't think it would end like this, I have to admit," he said calmly.

It was apparent Ford was containing himself by main force, and Zelenka stepped in.

"Perhaps you…should contact Teyla," he said quietly. "And inform the Major."

oOo

Sitting hurt like hell, but he gritted his teeth and reminded himself he'd felt worse. The 'when' escaped him, but he knew there had to have been a time.

Halling looked at him with concern, but he shook his head, gripped the armrests of the wheelchair till his knuckles turned white. "I'll be ok. We've gotta go."

oOo

Carson read the monitors with growing concern. The faltering field seemed not only to be removing support for McKay, but actually beginning to have a negative effect.

"We're going to have to pull the plug and get him out," he said finally. "Radek, give me a hand. Dr. Kavanagh, be ready on my signal."

oOo

Teyla met them halfway down, eyes widening at the sight of Sheppard in the chair. She stepped up to Halling.

"Please go to the group and tell them the hour is near. We will work for his recovery, or ease his passing. I will take the Major down."

Halling nodded. "Be well, Major. We will not rest until this is over."

He nodded shortly, appreciating the thought, knowing that miracles took believers. And right now a miracle was the only thing that would help. He gritted his teeth, the pain in his hip was growing.

oOo

"Cover him. We can at least keep him warm."

Zelenka started from his reverie. McKay's body had been so light, he was musing. It was as if he'd already abandoned them, left only his husk behind, breathing, heart beating, but there was no sense of him, nothing of what made him the man he was could be felt.

He nodded and helped Beckett snug several blankets around the physicist. Beckett had started an IV - with difficulty - and was injecting something. Zelenka eyed it and raised a brow.

"Painkiller," the doctor said softly. "I don't want there to be the chance of him suffering."

He nodded, looked at Kavanagh, who merely returned the glance.

"I believe I am no longer needed," he said, with dignity, and left. Zelenka made a move to stop him, but Beckett shook his head.

"He's right, Radek. He can't help, you can't, hell - I can't."

It seemed so…final. Zelenka stared at McKay. "He's come up with so many last second answers. It is not right that we should not be able to do the same for him."

Beckett sighed. "So much of this isn't right. I've stopped keeping track."

Zelenka began to detach the generator, wrap cables. He was deep in thought, but a voice brought him back.

"Carson?" It was Sheppard, in a wheelchair.

"Damnit, lad - I left you for a reason!" Beckett trotted over. "Get him on the gurney, Teyla - give me a hand. That wound is in a bad place, you could damage yoursel' worse... Do you want to be crippled?" He slipped one arm under one side, and Teyla mirrored the movement on the other. Between them, they lifted Sheppard to the gurney, and Beckett wrapped a blanket over him. "What are you even doing here…oh." He'd seen the comm.

Sheppard tapped it. "I had to come, Carson," he said flatly. "You were wrong to leave me behind."

Carson closed his eyes a moment, recalling the cave. "Aye," he admitted heavily. "I was. Come, let's get you a bit more comfortable, and then you can see him."

Zelenka could see the pain in Sheppard's face, and it had nothing to do with the wound.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She glanced at her watch. Everything in her yearned to be down there, at Rodney's side, but she had a job here, and if anyone could pull a rabbit out of this particular hat, it was Zelenka.

The first benchmark had passed. She found her thoughts turning dark, the Tok'ra had been wiped out, they no longer considered humans allies - or, more basic, they'd just said 'no'. Minutes passed slowly, time stretching.

Then - a familiar sound.

"Incoming wormhole."

oOo

Sam still got a thrill, stepping through the 'gate with her father. For so long he hadn't understood why she loved her job, until he had been diagnosed with cancer and the Tok'ra, Selmac, was his only chance to live. He looked over, and even with the gravity of the situation, he smiled at her. She smiled back.

"So, you remembered your doohickey?" O'Neill asked from the control room, and Jacob turned and held a box high.

"Good enough. Carter. He's a pain in the ass, but he's good. Let's not lose him, huh?"

She nodded, and met the eyes of her team.

"Let's go to Atlantis."

oOo

It was a longer trip than she'd experienced before, but she stepped out the other side feeling only slightly chilled. The size of the room, and the beauty, were almost overwhelming. She glanced at Teal'c and Daniel, at her dad, and smiled.

That was all she had time for, as Weir came pounding down the stairs.

"Follow me," she said shortly. "The situation has deteriorated drastically."

oOo

Lying down eased the discomfort almost immediately, Sheppard discovered. He pulled the com off and placed it in Beckett's hand like a reluctant child returning a toy, then looked more closely.

Carson Beckett had always been the consummate doctor. On Earth, he dispensed medical care with a healthy dollop of earthy wisdom, and treated emergencies with speed and efficiency...but no one hung out with him. He was friendly, but not friends with the base, even during the time he was helping prepare the expedition.

Atlantis had changed him. It had changed them all. He had friends, good ones. And now one of them had passed beyond his help, and it seemed the last chance to save him had failed.

He was hurting.

Sheppard understood that kind of hurt.

He reached out and took Beckett's arm. "You did your best," he said gently. "Thank you."

There was more to say, he had no words, but the tension in Beckett's face eased a fraction.

"Come," he said. "He may still know we're here. Let's keep him company."

Teyla helped Beckett wheel him over, and Ford joined them. One missing.

"Radek?"

He was listening to his comm, as was Ford, and they spoke almost as one.

"They're here." "They're coming."

oOo

Radek moved off to one side, out of the way. The two, father and daughter - and, he realized, father's symbiote - made for the pallet immediately, along with Weir and Beckett, joining Sheppard and Teyla. He knew the other two, or at least knew of them, and tried on a smile as they approached.

"Dr. Zelenka," the shorter one said. "I'm Dr. Daniel Jackson. Daniel." He gestured to the Jaffa behind him. "And Teal'c."

He nodded at the two. "Radek," he said. It was like meeting royalty. He pulled an old conversational gambit out of history, right from his first English class.

"How do you know Rodney?"

Jackson smiled a bit. "Oh, here and there. He had a reputation on earth that seemed to be at odds with the one he has here." He glanced at the man behind him. "Sam wasn't surprised at how well he's done, but - well - call us curious."

"The doctor appears to be exceeding expectations," Teal'c added. "We did not anticipate his aptitude for off-world missions."

"Colonel Sheppard hand-picked his team," Zelenka observed. "Losing Dr. Grodin was terrible for us all, if we lose Rodney..." he swallowed, changed the subject. "Truly, he has displayed an ability to conjure up solutions that rivals Dr. Carter. He has made friends here, too. Would be very hard...well, reports are accurate...loss of McKay…" He shoved his hands more deeply in his pockets, letting his faltering English go, and stared at the group surrounding the two men.

The Jaffa and the human nodded, and he could tell they knew what he'd intended to say. The loss would rip the heart out of them.

"They're starting," Jackson observed.

oOo

Sam hadmet Sheppard on Earth, and had been struck by his resilience, his ability to adapt to the new world he found himself in. He'd always carried an ineffable sense of California boy free spirit with him, a natural joy in life.

Little of that was left in the man she saw, lying on the gurney. She knew, from reports, what they'd gone through since arriving in Atlantis, but even in the video he'd had determination, conviction - and still a bit of his joy showed through. Now, there was only determination and a sorrow that seemed vast, overpowering. She'd seen this before. It was O'Neill once again, sitting deathwatch over Daniel.

He didn't look up at their approach. He was lying on the gurney, head turned toward his friend, left hand laced with McKay's right. His eyes appeared closed, but then she could see the slit of hazel, seemingly staring through the present into memory, fixed on his friend.

Her father shook his head when she went to touch Sheppard, simply pulling the healing device on his hand and going to the other side. He breathed deeply, twice, and extended his hand over the wound.

She still had enough naquadah in her system to feel the pull as the process started. It was a measure of Selmac's skill that there was no need for the patient to be isolated physically, and she looked down at Sheppard as he became gradually aware that something was going on.

"It's ok, John," she said quietly, before he could say anything. "It's me."

He looked up, and blinked, puzzled.

"That's my dad, Jacob," she said, knowing the pride was in her voice. "He and Selmac are trying to help."

"Thanks for coming," he said quietly. He craned his neck, saw the group behind Jacob. "Wow. Gang's all here, huh?"

Beckett stepped up and around, next to her. "Can you feel anything?" he asked, gesturing to their hands.

He considered. "Warm. Nice. Like..." he shrugged "...warm." Like a hug from a child, like waking on a Sunday morning to birdsong and the promise of two training hops. Like sitting counting lightning strikes with friends.

Jacob dropped his hand, and Beckett looked over sharply.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and he nodded.

"We must remove the bandages now." Selmac said. "They will inhibit the process."

Beckett nodded, and moved to Selmac's side, helping, as Sam glanced at Sheppard. She gave him points for taking the eyes and the inhuman voice in stride, more disturbing to him was the wound that was uncovered. She found herself as distressed as he was.

"Oh, Rodney." She couldn't help the pained whisper, and Sheppard glanced up at her, understanding, before returning his gaze and attention to McKay.

"Better," Selmac said.

"Do you - want me to let go?" It was evident from the tone that Sheppard didn't really want to. Selmac shook Jacob's head.

"It is not necessary," he replied. He began again, Beckett watching keenly.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It wasn't just the lightning storms. As he lay there, it seemed as if the entire history of their friendship spun through his mind. Thoughts. Feelings. He closed his eyes, concentrating, remembering. First impressions, plenty of ability, but the social skills of a tadpole – then a single act of bravery that told him maybe there was more to this man. A flood of images, and their emotions, all sweeping toward the hours in the cave...

He must have dozed, he thought absently, fallen asleep on his bed in his quarters without realizing it. Halfway between sleep and waking, he hovered in a pleasant limbo, thinking he had a lot to do - reports to write, training to plan. But it was so nice here. Quiet. Warm.

"Rodney!" He jerked upright, into Beckett's restraining arms.

"Easy, lad." He stared up at him, around at the others. Selmac was removing the device and putting it away with an air of satisfaction. Weir was at the foot of his bed. He could feel the others were in the room, but for now they were unimportant.

Bed, not gurney. They were back in the infirmary. Gently, Beckett eased him down, gestured to a bed behind him where McKay lay, face smooth and relaxed in sleep. His colour was normal.

"No tubes," he said. Beckett smiled.

"No tubes," he agreed. "You were - uncomfortable - Selmac thought we should come back here before he healed you."

"Healed."

"Stand up," Selmac said, and Sheppard blinked once, then sat. And stood.

The pain was gone. The wound was gone, and he took two steps to McKay's bedside, hospital johnny flapping around his legs, pulled down the sheet, pulled up the scrub top.

He could see where it had been, the restored skin was faintly lighter, but theterrible injuryitself was gone. He closed his eyes in relief, held on to the bed rail hard as he felt his knees weaken.

Weir and Beckett caught him, steering him back to the bed, where Weir tucked him in as Beckett straightened McKay's bedclothes out.

Though he fought it, he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

oOo

Again, in the twilight world, he lay and listened. Someone was near by, he could hear movement, and the step wasn't familiar, as Elizabeth's would be.

"Sam?"

It was Jackson calling her name, and when she responded "Here" he realized she was by McKay's bedside.

Footsteps crossed the floor, men's steps, one set slower and firmer than the other. Teal'c was with Jackson.

"We were going to get dinner. Your dad and Dr. Weir are getting along like a house afire. Want to come?"

"Yeah." It was reluctant. "In a moment."

There was a pause.

"I am pleased that your father was able to help these men, Colonel Carter." That deep rumble could only be the Jaffa.

"Me too."

Another silence.

"He called me a dumb blonde, you know that?" The tone was partly insulted, partly affectionate, and Jackson laughed softly.

"I heard."

"When I heard he'd been recommended for the mission, I was envious - of course - but when I heard he'd accepted I was stunned. A possible one way trip with danger at every corner - didn't sound like him."

"You were surprised, then," Teal'c said.

"Heck, yeah! I figured he'd head back to Toronto and take a nice safe teaching post. And here he is now. And he's almost…buff."

Jackson laughed outright at that. "It's the geek's guide to fitness. Before I joined the SGC I was carrying a few pounds extra."

"Something else is disturbing you, Colonel Carter."

"Well, yeah." He heard her move around to the space between their beds. "How did I misjudge him so badly?"

The others said nothing.

"I mean, when choosing a team, Rodney McKay is not anywhere on my list. Or, he wasn't. I'd worked with him twice, we'd spent hours together, and still Major Sheppard sees potential where I didn't. I don't like thinking I'm that bad a judge of character."

"You only knew him in the mountain, Sam," Jackson said kindly. "You never know how someone will react in the field, until you get into the field."

Another silence.

"Did you see him?" and her voice was from right above him, and he tried to open his eyes but they were so heavy.

"When Dad told him he was healed, his first thought was for Rodney. He didn't question it. He just...hopped out of bed and went straight for him."

"You read the report," Teal'c said. "I would believe they did not expect to survive."

"I'm glad he's found his niche." Her voice was affectionate. "And friends."

They were getting ready to leave; he could hear it in their movements. With a mighty effort, he pried open his eyes and found he was staring at the back of a blonde head. Dumb blonde. He snickered - or in his mind he did, outside it sounded more akin to a cat struggling with a hairball.

She turned; smiling, and Jackson and Teal'c joined her at the bedside.

"Dad mentioned you'd likely be waking up around now," she said. "You'll be foggy for a bit. You're fine, though, and so is Rodney."

"I 'member." It was like talking through wool. She brought the bed up a bit and helped him drink some water. The freshness of it helped drive the cobwebs out, and he glanced over at McKay. He saw the look she gave her friends, but he couldn't help it. And, of all people, he knew they understood.

"He's fine," she repeated. "My dad does good work."

He smiled at her. "Staying?"

"Couldn't get rid of us that quickly. We're here for another few days, Daniel's dying to see some of the city."

"I'd be glad to give you a guided tour." Words were coming more easily again, and he was feeling much better.

"That would be nice. I want to see Rodney's lab, too. Dr. Zelenka showed me some of what you've found, but we haven't had..."she looked over at Rodney "a chance to really look around."

He grinned at that a bit ruefully, glanced over her shoulder and nodded at Beckett, who was heading up the row of beds towards them.

"Very good," he greeted them. "I have a tray of supper coming for you, Major. Dr. Carter, your father was looking for you and your team."

Sam grinned, ducked her head. "Daddy calls," she quipped, and followed the others as they headed out.

Beckett watched her go. "Lovely lass," he said wistfully. "Smart as our Rodney but a better package to put it in…"

"You dog, you." Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "But I must say I see why he's been carrying a torch for her."

Beckett nodded, still pensive.

"Doc? Dinner?"

oOo

Hours later, the lights were dimmed, Atlantis night. But Sheppard couldn't sleep. He lay on his back, arms behind his head, listening to McKay's even breathing, musing on the psychological benefits of burgundy scrubs over the hospital johnny he'd woken in at first. The johnny implied ongoing care, that certain accesses to areas not generally accessed in polite company were needed. The scrubs were a close relative of real clothes, and were indelibly tied to recovery and recuperation in his mind. With enormous satisfaction, he noted that he and McKay were both in scrubs.

Carson had been confident enough in the Tok'ra's work to actually take Weir's advice and go to bed. McKay would likely sleep the night, he'd said.

Jacob had been by, and he'd had the chance to speak to both him and Selmac - that had been a bit odd, but he'd adapted. 'Thank you' was a fairly universal concept. He'd replied 'You're welcome', but there was something there that made Sheppard feel like Jacob understood what wasn't said, as well.

There were a couple of biscuits left over from his supper, and he considered a nighttime snack, but decided against it. When the airman had arrived, in Carson's wake, with the tray, he'd simply stared - it had looked approximately like the amount of food he'd normally eat over days, not for a single meal. He'd started to say that, but the smell of meatloaf in gravy hit and he was abruptly ravenous. He'd managed to down almost all of it.

And now he alone was awake, his best friend snoring gently beside him. He stretched out, luxuriating in the absence of pain, and wondered, for a moment, if he rated scrubs and Carson didn't deem it necessary to stay in the infirmary, why he hadn't simply been released. But the next question was naturally 'where would he be for the night', and the answer would be 'the infirmary', which brought him back to the inescapable conclusion that Carson Beckett was just too sneaky for his own good.

He chuckled to himself at that, and rolled over to face McKay, closing his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

In his dreams, he was back in the cave. He felt the weight of his friend in his arms, the way the rock dug into his shoulder and arm when the pain twisted the wounded man. He curled around, trying to make a blanket of his body to protect his friend from the cold, from the agony. From mortality. He curled tighter, thinking in a confused, dreamy way of hiding McKay from death...

And was abruptly awake again, having knocked his head against the bedside table.

"Ow."

He straightened out, it appeared he'd been trying to crawl to the end of the bed - weird - and rubbed the sore spot on his forehead.

"John?" It was a voice he'd been certain he'd never hear again, and he blinked hard before climbing off the bed.

"You're ok?" McKay's tone was a mix of relief and astonishment. He looked up at Sheppard with an expression at once hopeful and foreboding. "This isn't a near death experience or something, is it?"

Sheppard grinned and sat on the edge of McKay's bed. McKay shifted over automatically to make room, then froze - it should have hurt, he knew. It didn't. Sheppard smiled at the look on McKay's face.

"A Tok'ra," he said. "With a healing device." He poked McKay gently in the stomach. "Patched up that big honkin' hole."

McKay's eyes gleamed with excitement. "No kidding? Amazing. He healed you too? When'd he get here? Who was it?" He sat up gingerly, waving off Sheppard's hand with a nod of thanks, and smiled broadly at the absence of pain.

"Yes, he healed me, they got here about a day ago, the man is Jacob and the Tok'ra is Selmac." McKay glanced up at the name and Sheppard nodded at the question he saw. "She's here too. And Teal'c, and Daniel."

McKay smiled smugly, and then it faded. "I don't remember anything after you started breathing again in the cave. What happened?"

Sheppard nudged the knee nearest him and McKay scooted back, crossing his legs, making room. Sheppard settled himself against the foot of the bed; catching the pillow McKay tossed him and wedging it behind him as a backrest. McKay adjusted the remaining pillow, catching sight of the leftover biscuits and retrieving one. He offered the other to Sheppard, munching.

"No, thanks. I ate already."

McKay shrugged, finished the first and started on the second, and Sheppard felt a grin spread across his own face. McKay was eating. All was right with his world.

"Well?"

"Right. What happened." He tucked his feet under the extra blanket. The floor was cold. "I don't know when they found us, but I woke up a lot later here. Didn't see you. It was...fairly alarming. Carson told me they'd done everything they could, but you were getting worse. They put you in stasis."

"Where we found Elizabeth? It was damaged, I didn't think it would work again."

"Zelenka and Kavanagh got it going, for a few days, anyway, long enough for Weir to get the message through to SGC and for them to get back here. It was close, though. The field failed about an hour before they got here." His brow furrowed, he stared at the blanket, picking at a miniscule bit of lint.

"You were there, though," McKay said suddenly. "I remember you holding on. Like you did in the cave."

Sheppard looked up at that, and his face cleared. "I'm impressed. Carson left my comm here, and I heard what was happening. Carson'd taken off by then, but Halling helped me into a wheelchair, and Teyla met me halfway there. I got there just after the pod failed. We were - just waiting, and then the cavalry arrived."

"Wow." McKay leaned back. "So, basically, you're saying two of the neatest things possible happened to me, and I slept through it."

Sheppard eyed him. "Yeah, you could look at it that way." There was an emphasis on the word 'you' that McKay didn't miss.

"Maybe neat is the wrong word," McKay amended. "Unusual? Out of the ordinary?"

"Everything here is out of the ordinary, McKay. And can I just say how much of a geek you are? Those are two of the neatest things?"

"Yes, Major, they are," McKay said. "And I thought we'd established long ago that I am Supergeek. Come on, isn't that why you all love me?"

It was a facetious question, but the simple "Yes" from Sheppard shut the physicist right up. He eyed his friend at the foot of the bed with something akin to suspicion. "What?"

"You are Supergeek, and I love you for it."

McKay recovered from the shock surprisingly quickly.

"Naturally," he said smugly. "But that doesn't mean we're going steady, now."

Sheppard laughed. "Not that kind of love, McKay."

"Better hope no one heard that, or it'll fuel those rumours no end."

He grinned at that, and slid off the bed. "It's late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. Carson said we'll be outta here tomorrow, which means you can introduce me to your friends properly." He tossed the pillow back to McKay and climbed back into his own bed.

McKay shifted around a bit, as much to get used to the fact he wasn't in pain as anything else, and finally settled down.

"McKay, you're worse than my old dog. You done?"

"Yup."

Sheppard doused the light, rolling on his side. He happened to sleep on his right, and he happened to end up facing McKay. He was drifting off when he heard a quiet call.

"John?"

He managed not to sigh.

"Yes, Rodney."

"Did I ever say thank you?"

"You're still here. That's enough."

Fleetingly, he wondered at himself - he was being far more open than he usually was, but then he thought about what they'd been through and decided he was entitled. Besides, it was really late - or early - and wasn't it the rule that what happened in the long, dark hours wasn't to be discussed in daylight?

"Thank you anyway," McKay said. "I'll never forget what you did. If I can ever do the same for you, I will. I'll be there, I promise." His voice fairly vibrated with conviction, as if he expected Sheppard to disbelieve him, and John realized he wasn't the only one who's emotions were running close to the surface.

"I know you will," he replied. "I trust you, Rodney." A small sigh from the other bed, and Sheppard shrugged to himself. "You're my best friend. Of course I'd trust you to be there for me."

There was no more noise from the physicist, and he settled again, pulling the cover up and closing his eyes.

oOo

But this time sleep didn't come. His mind wouldn't shut off, and finally he gave up, opened his eyes again, and turned on the bedside light that sat on the table on the far side. Someone had brought his book, but he wasn't in the mood for it and he glanced around the immediate area for some other reading material. In the faint light, he could see McKay was turned on his right side too. Sleeping, he thought, but his gaze lingered, there was something - off. He saw McKay was curled over, and as he watched he saw the bowed shoulders were shaking slightly.

Crap.

He remembered his own first serious brush with death far too clearly. He'd lost the tail rotor on an Apache while seven hundred feet up, managed to fight the autogyration and control the crash into a forest. He'd bailed out with his gunner soon as they hit, but the chopper hadn't blown.

Making the emergency call, he'd noticed a branch had pierced the already cracked glass, somehow, and driven into the headrest not half an inch from his helmet. He'd avoided death by half an inch.

It hadn't hit him fully, not then. Or when he'd made his report. But that night, in the shower, his mortality had descended on him like a tsunami, and he'd collapsed, curled up in the corner of the stall like the guy in that movie, shuddering and crying.

He couldn't remember how long he'd sat there, but he did recall shakily toweling off later, noticing his fingers were wrinkled. He'd stared at himself in the mirror, but the glass reflected only the dark, empty apartment behind him.

He remembered feeling utterly alone. And that had made it so much worse.

He pushed his covers back and stood, moving quietly to stand by McKay. He was curled tight, and the sobs were almost silent - he had a flash of a much younger Rodney; bullied at school, in the play yard, perhaps, coming home for help and comfort, meeting indifference.

It had been shortly after the storm, when the four of them had held their own wake for Latraverse and Gray, that McKay had made the comment. It had been offhand, inserted in a fairly tipsy conversation between Sheppard and Teyla about why men didn't cry, and it was the dour observation that, where he grew up, you cried quietly or you were given a reason to cry loudly.

That memory prodded him to sit on the edge of McKay's mattress, behind the man's back. The physicist froze at the movement, but Sheppard simply laid a non-judgmental, comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's ok," he said gently, knowingly, and that was all.

One hand crept up and over his, holding tight, and he just sat there, his proximity giving permission to be human, to share the burden of fear with someone who cared. The Canadian's innate reserve made him seem standoffish, and his carefully cultivated superior attitude combined with it to leave him inaccessible to most. And, he admitted to himself, he'd bought into the lie himself - for a while, at least.

He sat there, feeling the muscles under his hand tense and relax, trying to think back to when he'd seen through the mask, seen the man beneath. He couldn't pinpoint it. He'd been Sumner's fly on the wall during the briefings, helped organize the sciences requirements for the mission, assisted in the interminable negotiations that balanced human requirements against military requirements against scientific requirements. He'd started out - as everyone did - feeling disdain for the opinionated head scientist, but that had grown to a grudging respect before leaving the SGC. Once in Atlantis, the respect became unbridled, grew through frank admiration to genuine affection, all carefully hidden behind the seemingly biting banter. Come morning, he knew, the snarking would resume. He wouldn't have it any other way, and knew McKay wouldn't either.

The soundless sobs were easing. He supposed he should be feeling slightly uncomfortable, sitting on another man's bed, in the dark, holding hands, but he still clearly recalled his own feeling of desolation, isolation; and after all, it wasn't just anyone, it was Rodney McKay, Supergeek, brother.

'Nothing good comes easy.' his granddad had told him.

He sat there, quietly, as the hitching breaths slowed to regular breathing, deepened to sleep. McKay's grip loosened, and he carefully retrieved his hand, slipped off the bed, climbed in his own.

Sleep came easily now, and was dreamless.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

He woke again and for an instant he was alarmed - he was alone in the infirmary again, and for a second he recalled the fear he'd experienced the first time, but when he half-sat he could see the rumpled bed beside him. And, now that he was awake, he heard quiet voices beyond the screen, recognized them.

"...be sure all the plumbing's intact, and that's the best way to tell, if not the most delicate..."

"Yes, Carson, I pooped. Can I go now?"

Pooped was an inherently funny word, Sheppard had always thought, and it seemed Carson did too. And when Carson laughed, it was hard not to join him.

McKay peered around the edge of the screen, grinned when he saw Sheppard.

"'Bout time," he said. "Here." He tossed Sheppard a bundle of clothes. "Ford picked them up for us. Sneakers, too. Under your bed. Grab a shower and get dressed, they're waiting for us."

"Pooped," Sheppard said, and snickered.

"Better than sh….omething else," McKay said with dignity.

Beckett joined them, after advising Control that the patients were officially discharged, and the three of made for the conference room where the guests from Earth and assorted others waited. Sam stood, smiling, and - to McKay's evident surprise and delight - hugged him fiercely.

"Don't go doing that again," she told him severely, but the effect was marred by the broad smile she wore. "And you..." she poked Sheppard in the arm "be more careful."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned. "Absolutely, ma'am."

oOo

There was a general babble of chatter that ensued, and Sheppard caught a glimpse of Weir in the midst of it, looking more at ease than she had for months. He made his way over to her.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Never better," she replied. "Thankful."

He stuck his hands in his pockets, eyes finding McKay with ease in the crowd.

"Me too," he agreed.

oOo

The quarters they'd been assigned bore a striking similarity to a dorm, four rooms opening onto a common area, with a balcony. The impromptu party was over, and Sam was sitting on the couch, staring out over the railing at the sea, seeing memories.

"Penny."

She started slightly, turned to see Daniel approaching. He was in his nightclothes, which - given the situations they often found themselves in offworld - could be considered casual day clothes. The t-shirt had been a gift from Sam from a very early Christmas, it said 'Linguists use their tongue' in hieroglyphs, Sumerian script, and Norse runes; and had been corrected in marker by Daniel and washed roughly a thousand times. The grey sweats were standard issue, and had been washed two thousand times.

"Teal'c's asleep, and your dad's off wandering the city. Whatcha thinking about?"

"How men keep their clothes until there aren't two fabric atoms left to rub together," she said, indicating the space next to her. "Stuff. Not much."

Daniel sat. "You didn't tell him you were engaged," he observed, stretching out, sock feet on the clear block of indeterminate purpose that had been pressed into service as a coffee table.

"Nope." She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on her crossed arms, looking at his feet. She'd been raised that feet belong on the floor, not on the table, but it was a different galaxy. And her feet were on the sofa. She grinned to herself. Maybe it was because her father was with them that she remembered it.

"Are you going to?"

She turned her attention back to the ocean. "Nope."

Daniel glanced at her, she felt the movement. "He has a crush on you," he observed.

"No kidding." She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, and mostly succeeded. It wasn't his fault, she should have known better. Hugging. It was the hugging that had been the bad idea.

"Just saying. So..." and he changed the subject with alacrity "what're you up to tomorrow?"

"Sheppard's going to give me a tour, while you and Rodney play with artifacts. Sounds like fun..." she added.

"Can't wait!" Daniel's enthusiasm was unfeigned. "Some of the stuff is incredible. He's started a dictionary, too."

"We'll swing by and pick you up for dinner, then, or you'll both forget to eat." Dinner. With Rodney. He'd lost weight; she'd noticed when she'd hugged him so tightly.

Again with the hugging.

He nodded. "Thanks."

She knew he expected more, but she just didn't know if she wanted to discuss it. It was something she'd love to have talked to Janet about - the pang of loss still hurt - but Daniel? She let the silence build, and finally Daniel took the hint.

"Time for me to hit the hay," he said, and yawned exaggeratedly, making a production of rising.

She looked at him as he stood. How many other things had they seen each other through, she realized. And he would understand her quandary "Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

She wanted to say more, but the words didn't come as quickly as she'd hoped. She looked at him, wishing he could read her mind. He seemed to understand, partly at least, and sat again.

"Sam?"

She stared out the window again. "I was a bad judge of character," she said quietly. "and now I really like him." Oh, great way to start, she thought. Sounds like a grade six sleepover.

"Yeah - well, he's found himself. Know what? I like him too."

"Daniel?" She suspected she looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

"Yes?"

"I'm engaged, I shouldn't feel this way, but I really, really like him. Something inside is telling me to get to know him better." She bit her lip and stopped when she realized what she was doing. It was a bad habit. Daniel was looking at her expectantly.

"It's telling me to get to know him a lot better." It had scared her more than she'd known, standing there while her father worked to close the terrible wound. It was a sense of impending loss, of an opportunity squandered. Not that any of their previous encounters had been - romantic - but nonetheless he was someone who would understand what it was like to be the go-to person, the one everyone looked to for answers…and she kept coming back to the darn hug. It had felt so natural.

"I want to take a couple cups of coffee and go to his quarters…" she trailed off, uncomfortably. "Daniel, I'm engaged!"

And the light dawned.

"Oh." He paused. "Oh," he said again, in a different tone of voice.

"What do I do?" she asked softly. "I think of Pete, and it should take those other thoughts out of my head, but it doesn't."

Daniel regarded her evenly.

"It's not like I've suddenly fallen for him, but still...I don't know..."

She watched him, worried that she'd spilled too much, but he pondered what she said, and sat back finally.

"Fake it," he said flatly.

"Pardon?"

"Pretend. Sam, if you pursued this now, it would haunt you in ways you couldn't imagine. Trust me." He caught her gaze, held it. "Pretend you don't feel what you feel. We're gone, soon, and you're married a few weeks later, and this will just be a memory."

She sighed, glanced out at the waves rolling in, and then stood.

"I think I'll crash too," she said. "You're right. You usually are." Maybe she was just tired. A good night's sleep would help. But she knew, somehow, that sleep might be a tad reluctant to come tonight.

"I usually am," he agreed blandly. "Walk you to your room?"

oOo

"You know what Carson would say if he saw you in here."

Sheppard crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe, looking at McKay.

"You know what Carson would say if he saw you walking around at this hour of the night." McKay replied. "Besides, I'm just grabbing some discs and my notes. I can do what I need to in my room."

"Carter seems nice. I'm taking her on the grand tour tomorrow." He grinned. "Jealous?" he asked.

"Oh, absolutely. Wait, no, I'm not." He beckoned. "If you're going to stand there, be useful."

Sheppard sauntered in, and McKay thrust two large folders in his direction, along with several disassembled bits of something and a pocket computer.

"I think she likes you better than she used to. That's what Elizabeth seemed to think, anyway."

McKay paused in his collecting of what appeared to be most of the materials in the lab, nodded. "Yeah. She's changed, somehow."

"But of course, you haven't." The words were out before he could think, and he firmed his jaw, angry with himself. It was a sore point for the scientist. It was an observation that he didn't want to hear about himself. He met McKay's eyes with equanimity, though, and McKay started to say something, then stopped. He finished packing the last of the items into the box.

The silence stretched. Sheppard sighed.

"Come on," he said. "You can walk me to my quarters. I've got a bottle of something that Carson would kill for, and there's about two shots left."

He picked up a laptop that had somehow evaded the general gathering of material.

"I was saving it for a special occasion, and to be blunt, us being not dead is as special as I can think of."

McKay retrieved the laptop and returned it to its place.

"That one, I don't need," he said. "Lead on."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Nice." Sam leaned on the rail, staring up at the tower above. She turned, scanning the enormous amount of city they could see from this vantage. Beside her, Sheppard dropped his elbows to the top bar and nodded. The others were amusing themselves in various ways inside - Jackson and McKay were working on an Ancient to English dictionary, Teal'c had expressed interest in Teyla's fighting method - and Sam and John, now long past the awkward stage of rank, were wandering the edges of the inhabited part of the city.

"We like it."

Sam glanced over after a moment.

"I have a question for you, if you don't mind."

Sheppard shrugged. "I'll tell you if I do," he replied.

"Why Rodney?" It took her a few seconds, she'd obviously tried couching the question in different ways in her mind, but in the end she just blurted it.

"On my team, you mean?" He remembered her musing on that while in the infirmary, but she hadn't known he was awake - well, sort of awake - at the time.

She nodded. "I never saw that in him, that ability. How did you? What made you choose him?"

He clasped his hands together, staring past them at the water.

"SG1 is kind of a model, you know. The idea of a scientist on what is, essentially, a first contact team - it's pretty much a requirement. When Elizabeth told me to put a team together, I thought of Radek first; smart, quiet, would likely obey orders."

Sam nodded. "I met him at a conference. I know what you mean." She looked at him expectantly.

"What changed my mind?" he supplied her question easily enough, but then he stopped, stared at a distant tower, at his hands, at the water.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"No, it's no problem," he said, "but I don't know how to phrase it." He rubbed his chin, dropped his head, seemed to come to a decision.

"My granddad raised me," he started, then his gaze drifted and Sam was reminded how recently death had brushed by this man "...this is the second time in two days I've told this story," he mused. "I wonder if he'll remember any of it. He was pretty far gone..." and there was no need for her to ask who 'he' was.

He swallowed, hard, shrugged his shoulders as if shucking a burden, and started again.

"He was a mechanic in a farm town. The man could fix anything. He also ran a crop duster on the side - my first exposure to flight. I loved it, from the first time I went up. My granddad encouraged it. He said I'd found my passion." He smiled. "Told me to follow it, and to try to surround myself with others who'd found theirs, and I'd have a happy life."

"Smart man."

"Yup. And it brings me to the answer to your question. Radek is smart, but Rodney loves science the way I love flying. He's braver than he knows, and I can trust him to do the right thing."

"Did you like him?"

"Didn't have to - I could work with him, he was a pro." He glanced at her sideways, knowing she knew they'd gone far past that. "He grows on you," he admitted.

She smiled at that, not meeting his eyes, remembering the room deep within the city, and a wounded man who couldn't let his dearest friend die alone, no matter the pain it cost him personally, no matter his own crippling injury.

"He does at that," she agreed. "He does at that."

She turned her attention back to the sea, and Sheppard joined her. She eyed him covertly. There was still a tension about him; she'd noticed it before. She'd recognized it, knew what it meant, for she'd seen it in her own team, long ago.

"Don't let this change you," she said suddenly. It wasn't something another man would have said, but Sam didn't disdain tools simply because they could be considered specific to her gender. "Or how you act around him." She avoided the term 'relate', knowing that men tended to shut down when they heard it.

"Huh?" he tried to sound surprised, but there was some relief there too, and she knew she'd read him correctly. It wasn't usual, but by special permission from O'Neill she'd read his file, knew his history.

He knew how quickly friendships developed in teams. She knew he'd faced loss before, and the consequences, and she knew he'd emotionally distanced himself after, trying to avoid any real ties to those he worked with. It was something that had come to worry her. Even in the short time they'd been here, she'd seen that McKay had - well - blossomed. Much of it seemed to come from the respect he was shown, stemming from his reputation as a whiz at solving problems. But much of it was simply the knowledge that his team liked him.

Sheppard's history seemed to indicate he'd try to distance himself – it had happened before. McKay was a big boy, he'd be able to deal if that happened, but it would hurt, and she found herself wanting to keep him from being hurt.

Out of curiosity, shortly after their last experience working together, she'd reviewed the physicists' file, too. Given his upbringing, she was surprised he'd managed as well as he had.

But this time there didn't seem to be any overt evidence of Sheppard withdrawing, and for that she was grateful. In some ways, it was just the opposite - that tension in him now seemed to dissipate when McKay was nearby. She'd seen the same reaction in her own team, after a dire injury, and knew it would wane over time, but Sheppard didn't, and it seemed he'd been hoping for some guidance from someone who'd been there.

"The thing is," she continued "you can't let yourself dwell on what happened - not the physical part, anyway. You can't live in fear of the loss; it'll destroy that trust. That being said," she turned to him "take whatever happened in that cave and cherish it. We're in a weird business and our teams become more than our families. My guys know me better than - well - anyone. They've seen me at my best and worst. As I've seen them. There isn't a word for what we have." She met his eyes; saw understanding, and a measure of relief, too, that he wasn't alone in the experience, not this time.

He nodded, and smiled a bit. "Better head back," he said. "Supper should be ready soon, and Elizabeth wanted to have one 'family' dinner before you had to go. Besides, our respective geeks will be glued to their lab stools if we don't pry them out for a meal."

She turned, reluctantly. "Next time I'll come for a week," she sighed, looking longingly at the rest of the city. "And do some more exploring, maybe."

Sheppard nodded. "It would be fun," he agreed. "Shall we?"

oOo

Weir watched as the chattering group made their way towards the gate. Jacob smiled warmly at her, raising one hand, and she called goodbye to him, and to Selmac. They'd had more than one long conversation over meals, coffee, walks through the city, and she'd grown to be at ease with both of them. Selmac had hundreds of years of experience in the art and science of leading people, and Jacob was charming and smart - an ex-general himself. It was like speaking with two old friends she'd just met.

She would miss them.

It had been nice to renew her acquaintances with the SG1 team, too, under calmer circumstances.

Calmer. It was subjective, that description.

Selmac had healed Rodney. Another gurney had been brought down and Beckett - clearly torn - had decided to dispatch McKay to the infirmary in the company of the doctor and nurse who had come with it. They'd turned their attention to Sheppard, then, and it was painfully evident the wound had begun to bleed heavily. It was all the moving around, Beckett had said, and she could tell he was equally angry with Sheppard, for getting himself down to the stasis room, and himself, for not bringing Sheppard with him in the first place. Selmac had slowed the bleeding but he was tired, and they'd all headed back to the infirmary as quickly as they could.

Beckett had treated Sheppard medically, buying the hour or so Selmac needed to recover. And Selmac had managed another miracle.

She wondered, for a moment, if the Tok'ra knew what it meant to Atlantis, to have the two of them healthy and back to normal.

She saw him standing a bit apart, watching his daughter and her friends. He worried about her, he'd confided to Elizabeth. But he knew her team, and it helped to know they loved her almost as much as he did.

It was something she found, now, that she understood very clearly indeed.

oOo

Saying goodbye was never one of her favourite things. She shook hands with Ford, accepted his salute. Said an Athosian farewell to Teyla, in whom she saw a kindred spirit; promising to return to see the community her people had built. Sheppard gave her a grin and a hug.

And finally she was face to face with Rodney McKay. She knew Daniel was watching her, wondering what she was going to do. Engaged though she was, she had an undeniable, if inexplicable, attraction to him. She couldn't act on it. But she wasn't just going to shake his hand, either.

She smiled at McKay, took his hand, and pulled him into another hug. This one lasted a good few seconds, though, and ended with a kiss on the cheek.

She stepped away, then. "Take care," she said quietly, then joined her father and her team, feeling his eyes on her, as they headed for the steps.

"He seems nice," Jacob observed.

"And he is obviously enamoured of you," Teal'c added, face straight.

Sam said nothing, turning and waving at the group in the control room as if she hadn't heard.

"And he's Canadian," Jacob continued. The affection was in his voice, laced with humour. "You'd be able to live anywhere on the continent. That could be very convenient."

"Dad..." the wormhole opening cut her off.

"Just think how cute your kids would be," Daniel contributed.

"And smart," Jacob added, grinning.

"Ok, that's enough from all of you. Teal'c, Daniel, not another word. Dad, you," she poked him in the chest "are going to meet Pete as soon as possible."

She gestured. "Now, everybody, back to Earth."

Sheppard watched them through the horizon - there had developed somewhat of a system of etiquette around gate travel, and one of the rules was 'see your guests off'. As Jacob, last in line, stepped through, though, he shook his head. Surely he hadn't just heard the resonant voice of Selmac saying something about 'long distance relationships'...

_And that's it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate the feedback!_


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